


The Night He Almost

by Ivy_Adair



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Brooding, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Flashbacks, Introspection, Present Tense, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 01:32:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3190793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivy_Adair/pseuds/Ivy_Adair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the K-Meme Prompt:<br/>"So, we know that Hawke and Fenris don't reconcile romantically until three years after that first night, right? But the codex and the DLCs hint that Fenris doesn't NOT pine for a few years etc etc.<br/>So, how's this for a prompt:<br/>It's about 1.5-2 years after the initial night. Fenris is being particularly broody and introspective. He wants SO BADLY to go to Hawke and apologize and kiss her and never leave her side, but he believes his chance is over. Maybe she has a noble suitor or something.<br/>So, after this heavy, self-loathing introspection, Fenris decides that the least he could do is go now and settle things. Tell her how much he loves her.<br/>But, for some reason he doesn't? Something, be it mentally or physically, something stops him or hold him back before he can knock on her door.<br/>-<br/>Of course, the next year passes, Danarius shows up, and the rest is lovely, steamy history."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night He Almost

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11381.html?thread=44906869#t44906869

_“Hawke, I’ve never…I don’t know if-”_  
  
 _A soft caress at his cheek stops him mid-sentence. He leans into her touch and marvels that for the first time since he can remember, he wants to feel someone else’s skin against his skin. Her lips are tilted up into a smile. The memory of them against his own is still bright and fresh. Longing grips him, clutches at his heart and sends little shockwaves that pool between his legs. She brushes white strands out of his eyes and behind his ear. Everything is tender, warm and so unlike anything he can remember before he came to Kirkwall._  
  
 _“Shh,” she soothes. “We’ll go as slow as you need. Nothing will happen tonight that you don’t want.”_  
  
Fenris grimaces as he empties another bottle of Orlesian red. The sediment hits his mouth and he snarls before hurtling the bottle at the wall. The glass shatters and flies about the room, but he doesn’t care. If anything, the pain of stepping on a glass shard is preferable to the pain of his memories. She had been so kind to him; he knew he didn’t deserve her affection. Yet, she had freely given it to him. Even after five years of freedom, he still found himself unable to understand this concept of trust and warmth so easily bestowed on others. Unconsciously, he twists the red favor around his wrist.  
  
 _“Wait, Hawke…I…” he stammers._  
  
 _She stops kissing his throat immediately and lifts her head to look at him. He expects to see anger on her face. Instead, she is concerned._  
  
 _“Talk to me,” she says softly._  
  
 _He cups her cheek in his hand. She smiles and tilts her head in to kiss his wrist. He sighs, “you deserve more than this. You should be with someone who isn’t broken, someone who isn’t half-terrified of your touch.”_  
  
 _“I don’t want someone else, Fenris. I want you.” He shivers as her words send a small ripple of pleasure through his body. "We can stop here, it's perfectly fine."_

_He swallows as he picks up her hand and places it gently on his chest. She answers with a soft caress and a smile that lights up her eyes. He bends his neck to press his lips against hers. It's no more than a gentle brush of skin on skin. He murmurs: "I don't want to stop," as he captures her lips with his._  
  
He stumbles a little as he makes his way across the room. His fire is dying and though he cares little for the cold, he finds himself tending to it out of habit. He stares into the flames and remembers the way the firelight danced across Hawke’s skin as she writhed beneath him. He groans softly as he feels a soft stirring between his legs. Then all at once, anger grips him. He growls at nothing in particular and slams his fist into the wall. Pain blossoms through his hand and reverberates up through his arm.  
  
Still, it isn’t her that he’s mad at. Fenris knows that this one is entirely on his shoulders.  
  
He hadn’t thought much of her when they had first met. He would be remiss if he didn’t admit that he had expected her to just take his coin and leave. Yet, after she had heard about Danarius, she seemed to genuinely want to help him. She had even flirted with him, if he recalled. That had been…surprising. She was kindhearted, but usually reserved a joke or two for him in their few moments alone. Hawke had even come to check on him after their initial meeting. He found himself openly admitted a desire to flatter her but lacking the skill to do so. He hadn’t imagined that he would actually _want_ to do these things. Truthfully, Fenris hadn’t even imagined that he would have wanted to seek our her company beyond whatever need she had for his blade. Yet, he truly enjoyed her company. In the safety of his mind, it was easier to admit that he relished her smile and when she turned it on him, it made him feel like a normal man for the first time in all his memories. He picks up another bottle of wine, already opened, and rips the cork off with his teeth.  
  
 _Venhedis_ , she was beautiful. She had wanted him and he had taken her and left her with nothing. He snarls and takes a long pull from the bottle. He grimaces at the taste and pauses to look at the label. It’s an older wine, too old. He glances at the label and frowns. It's an expensive wine, one favored by Danarius. His anger rises even higher as thinks about his former master. He grips the bottle tightly, wishing he had the strength to simply crush it in his hands. His fucking hands. The hands that bear these markings. The hands that reach into people's bodies and rip out their hearts. Hands that had been made gentle by Hawke. His hands that had held her, caressed her and brought her pleasure.  
  
His night with Hawke had been everything he had hoped for, excepting the sudden return (and subsequent loss) of his memories. He could remember nights before their union when he would find himself _aching_ for her. Even when he reminded her of what he was: an Elf and a former-slave, she had still wanted him. She had said nothing as he broke his word with Hadriana, despite knowing that she took things like promises and words of honor seriously. Even as he was trying to leave her after they had made love, she had wanted to help him. _Fasta Vass_ , he loves that about her.  
  
There was a time when he wanted to be the one to cater to what she needed and he still wound up being another problem to fix.  
  
He takes another long draw on the disgusting wine bottle, forgetting already how the drink had soured. He spits the liquid out and curses under his breath. Nights like this were hard. His traitorous body longed for company and his heart ached for the lovingly sweet embrace of the woman who made him unafraid. She deserves better, he knows. But, it’s too late. He knows its too late.  
  
 _He clutches the Book of Shartan close to his chest as he opens the door to Hawke’s estate. Despite their romantic failure, Hawke is still willing to teach him to read. He knows he doesn’t deserve her kindness after betraying her trust in such brutal manner. Her home is quiet and Bodahn is no where in sight. His steps are quiet, as always, and he makes his way to her study. As he reaches for the handle, he can hear voices inside the room. If Hawke is busy, he doesn’t want to interrupt._  
  
 _“So the most eligible lady in Hightown has accepted a dinner invitation?” he hears Aveline  say through the door._  
  
 _Hawke chuckles softly, “only to be kind. I couldn’t come up with any more excuses to say no.”_  
  
 _Blood pounds in Fenris’ ears. His chest constricts as he thinks of Hawke on the arm of another man. He wants to stomp into the room, pull Hawke into his arms and kiss her. Let his presence in her home and her bed be her excuse to ignore this nobleman. He doesn’t move._  
  
 _“Well, I’m glad for you. You deserve a little happiness after everything that’s happened.”_  
  
 _Guilt pools in his belly. He doesn’t have to be in the room to know the expression on Hawke’s face. He saw it the night he left her alone._  
  
 _“It isn’t what I wanted,” she remarks after a moment. “But… who knows what will happen?”_  
  
 _“What about Fenris?”_  
  
 _She sighs softly. “He doesn’t want me.”_  
  
He does want her. As his reverie lifts, he realizes at once that he’s wandered out of his home and is standing in front of Hawke’s estate. He paces for a moment before he stops still and stares up at the Amell crest above the door, the same one he keeps on his hip. Varric, Isabela and Merrill had peppered him with questions about the crest. He could never tell them. If Hawke had asked him, however, he knew the answer would tumble from his lips before he could even think of stopping it. It might make her uncomfortable, it might flatter her…he didn’t know. The simple answer was that he wears it because he is _hers_.  
  
He is a fool.  
  
A fool in love. His heart burns in his chest and the tiniest piece of his remaining resolve finally snaps. Liquid courage pumps through his veins and he knows that he’ll have no peace until he at least says _something_ to her. No matter what she says in return, even if she laughs in his face, he has to tell her the truth. For as much as she needs to hear it, Fenris needs to _say_ it. He imagines it in his head: storming into the estate and approaching Hawke. She’s surprised to see him but doesn’t kick him out. First, an apology for leaving her. Then, a kiss and a promise to never, ever leave her side again. Yes, yes he will. It’s time, _venhedis_ is it time!  
  
He glides to her door and reaches for the handle.  
  
“Fenris! Been looking everywhere for you.”  
  
 _Vishante kaffas_. He looks over his shoulder. Standing behind him is Kale, a man with contacts in the Imperium. He is a lowlife, but a well-connected lowlife.

“What?” Fenris snarls.  
  
He is unfazed. “Thought you should know, I found the girl you asked me. Elf, former slave named Varania who now works as a tailor in Qarinus. I can get a letter to her without it leading back to you, but we have to move fast. Our window of opportunity is closing.”  
  
Fenris’ snarl fades and he looks down at the ground in front of him thoughtfully. Kale calmly picks his nails as he waits for the elf to respond. Not for the first time, Fenris feels himself being pulled in two different directions. One is Hawke and his heart is screaming for him to go to her and beg her forgiveness. Yet, Varania represents that part of him that has been lost. She holds the key to the very memories that forced him to cower away from Hawke in the first place. What sort of man would he be if he went back to Hawke as something less than whole? Resigned, he takes a step towards Kale.  
  
“Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> It is my personal headcanon that during Hawke and Fenris' night together, that Hawke is completely sweet and loving and absolutely lets Fenris dictate how far to go and what he wants to happen. Hawke stops when it goes too fast and lets Fenris decide when/if it's time to start again. It's one of the ways I can reconcile the whole thing in my head as a person who has been also been assaulted and finds the prospect of being intimate with a person again completely TERRIFYING.
> 
> Anyway, this is my first K-meme fill...and my first post on A03 and I'm desperately hoping I didn't make a mess of the whole thing.


End file.
